“Unusual, at least,” I acknowledged. “My—our—theory is that Herr Morgenstern has run into something of sufficient importance that it has taken precedence over his excavation. We haven’t set eyes on him since we arrived. The work is proceeding under his subordinate, a man named von Raubritter, but it is not like Herr Morgenstern to delegate when interesting finds are turning up. Yesterday your father discovered a very beautiful, though unfinished, head, which may be that of Nefertiti. There is compelling evidence of a workroom that belonged to a sculptor named Thutmose.”

Ramses’s black eyebrows went up. “Father discovered the head?”

“He had no business doing any such thing,” I said before Emerson could bully his way into the discourse. “We had gone to the site on a perfectly open and proper mission—to greet an old friend”—I ignored a sputtered curse—“and confer with him as to how we should work together. His crew had partially cleared a courtyard and your father . . .” I caught Emerson’s eye and amended what I had started to say. “Your father’s trained eye saw—a shape, was it not, Emerson? A shape that told him something of interest lay just out of sight. He could not resist brushing away the sand to expose it. It was wrong of him, but understandable.”

“Wrong be damned,” he growled. “The greatest sin in archaeology is for the excavator to allow unsupervised digging to go on. We can trust our people to turn over the discoveries to us, but such is not the case with all the men. If a small, easily hidden object turned up, the temptation to tuck it away would—”

“The ushebti,” I said. “That must have been what happened. One of the men found it, realized its value, and secreted it in—”

“Excuse me, Mother,” Ramses said, a trifle exasperated, “but at this moment I am less interested in Herr Morgenstern’s activities than in your assertion that my assailant wore a monocle. Even you must acknowledge that it was a very peculiar remark.”

“My remark is not the least bit peculiar in that a person wearing a monocle burst into my bath chamber at Shepheard’s,” I explained. “No, Ramses, kindly do not interrupt my orderly narrative. Eat your breakfast. You may ask questions when I have finished.”

Ramses managed to control himself, although his eyebrows kept going up and down and at one point he let out a choked gurgle. When I finished, he took a very long breath, let it out, and remarked, “Accustomed as I should be to the—er—busyness of your life, Mother, I hardly know what to say first. The monocles do seem to connect the attacks on us, but what the devil do they mean?”

“I expect they are the insignia of a secret society,” I said. “If need be, the assassins are able to recognize one another in public.”